


Hellfire

by Froggyflan



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Farmer Mako, Hayseed junkrat, Improper Lubrication, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Witchcraft, don't fuck scarecrows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 07:56:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9063238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froggyflan/pseuds/Froggyflan
Summary: Mako is possessed by a demon





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my secret santa gift for [ Marcus-and-Carter](http://marcus-and-carter.tumblr.com/)!! They asked for Hayseed riding Roadhog, and I got a little carried away with writing Hayseed, so I'm really sorry about that haha.
> 
> Hope you like it!!!

He’s tickled awake.

The sun is coming through the thin curtains and coating the room in a faint pink, and he knows he’s slept in. He takes a nice deep breath, and his bones ache and plead for him not to move. Old age is definitely making him lazy. If he listens closely, he can hear the pigs crying for breakfast. They’re used to their routine, just as he is.

Mako lifts a hand up to rub at his face, and his skin feels greasy. A shower would be nice. But there’s that tickle again, the lightest scratching at his ankle, and he knows it will have to wait. He lifts his head from the pillow just barely to see a wiggling lump underneath the thick quilts.

“You’re getting hay in the bed.”

The lump moves as if startled, but answers with a happy chitter. Mako feels the tickle move up his leg, tracing the round muscles in his calf, the dip of his knee, the wide spread of his thigh. It’is an itchy feeling, and his body reflexively wants to reach down and bat it away. The sensation is nearly painful, but it’s followed by warm fingers soothing it away. The sound of skin sliding over sheets is alluring.

“It’s nice in here,” the lump says, and its voice rings with clanking metal. “Warm.”

Mako wants to remind him why he stays outside, but he hasn’t shaken the sleep from his brain. He stretches his neck and arches his back until he hears the tell-tale crack of success. The lump takes that moment to crawl up Mako’s belly, and long legs encompass Mako’s hips. The itch of straw and burlap is becoming unbearable.

“Cut it out,” Mako grumbles, and he finally lifts the covers. Orange metal eyes shine in the darkness beneath the blankets, and the permanent smile on his old, grimey mask seems more cheerful than usual. The straw ponytail that’s normally smouldering seems to be damp. Maybe it had rained last night. “Time to get up.”

A pair of mismatched hands drum across Mako’s naked stomach, making a gentle slapping sound. The creature rests his head on Mako’s belly, and the eyes swivel about to look up at him. There is nothing in those eyes but fiery magic, and yet he seems so pleading. “Not yet.”

Now would be the time for Mako to toss back the blankets and roll them out of bed, but that nagging ache and heavy feeling in his shoulders keeps him grounded. He might admit that he wants to stay in bed for just a little longer, and it’s not because of the scarecrow rocking against his hips.

The creature nuzzles his way out of the covers and lets them fall over his shoulders. Mako is close enough to smell the fire, the burn of oil, the morning dew and dirt. There is a soft scent of mildew, and yes, he must have been caught in the rain. He usually howls like a dingo until Mako lets him spend the night in the living room, but he obviously found his own way in.

The monster leans back, and Mako likes the way he sits perfectly on his crotch. Perhaps one day he’ll regret sleeping naked, but for now it’s making his life so much easier. The scarecrow doesn’t weigh much at all, but he grinds down with purpose, and that’s waking Mako up better than the sun or the sound of the farm coming to life. He grips the creature’s hips with both hands, and he keens in a shriek of metal. His twitchy body rocks back and forth until he has Mako’s full attention, and then begins undoing the clasps of his overalls.

Mako watches the monster undress, and he fumbles and yanks at his clothes angrily. He is so impatient. Mako takes the time to count the stitches over his pale dirty skin: Twenty two, from what he can see. They’re as fresh and raw as they’ve always been, ruined forever. Five of them trail from chest to belly, where someone or something had carved out his heart and replaced it with a curse.

The creature wiggles about to pull the legs of his overalls down, but they bunch at his knees. The rope at his thigh keeps the bale of hay securely in place, and that’s as naked as he can get. He grumbles in frustration, as if this doesn’t happen every single time, and grabs hold of Mako’s erection in his soft flesh hand. He shakes and squeezes the cock, making Mako grunt, before pressing it against his hole.

Mako wonders so much about this monster. He doesn’t eat, doesn’t sleep, but he looks at least a little human. He breathes smoke and bleeds oil, makes fire from nothing like a demon from hell. His voice is made of machines and whirling pistons like an engine. Time means nothing, and he doesn’t feel pain. He plays with hot coals from the stove, and he jumps from the scaffolds of the barn without a care. Now he sits on Mako’s fat cock and doesn’t even flinch.

The creature arches and pushes himself further down, and his own cock bobs and rubs against Mako’s round gut. It is a tight, vice-like grip that makes Mako want to lose control. He feels the slick of oil start to relieve some of the painful dryness; a rip where it shouldn’t be. He knows this can’t possibly hurt, but a sick feeling still ticks at his brain. The creature rocks until he meets Mako’s hips, and he lets out a lewd, desperate sound.

“Never get tired of this, mate,” he says, purring like Mako’s faithful pick up truck, “Ya feel so good.”

Mako can’t understand what kind of witchcraft would doom a person to become a walking nightmare, but still retain the ability to fuck and have a great time doing it. It seems like a hex worth having. His hands find the monster’s hips again, and those mismatched hands grip his wrists for support. He tilts his bagged head, and the eyes rotate in excitement. 

He pulls up, pushes down, and Mako helps him along. His hole clamps around him and it's almost too intense. The sounds coming from that hay smile only make his cock twitch and want more. They’re wonderful noises, loud and appreciative, all run through a filter of metal and heat. Each rock of his skinny stitched-up hips has them both moaning like teenagers, and this is when Mako feels young again.

The scarecrow lifts a hand to pull his mask back, revealing his mouth. He has a smile that rivals the one on his bag, but it’s real: Sharp crooked teeth and disgustingly chapped lips that are cracked and split like stitches. Mako likes the way he pants and twists his mouth into salacious shapes, howling and singing praise. He is a squirming, greedy devil.

“Mako,” he says. The inside of his mouth is orange with fire. “Mako, fuck me.”

As if he isn’t. He pulls the creature down onto his cock hard, hard enough to crack hips and tear insides, and he’s rewarded with a thankful shout and desperate bouncing. The scarecrow sets his own frantic pace with plenty of filthy words and filthier movements. His metal hand pinches Mako’s skin when it grips his great belly, but Mako is enjoying the roughness. Straw scrapes over Mako’s thighs and it will definitely leave a rash. 

The thing is going nuts on his cock, and Mako could just lay back and watch the show. He prefers to do all the work, prefers to pleasure Mako by his own hands. Such a helpful mentality must be from watching Mako slave away in the cornfields all day. He stays on his cross and follows him with his eyes until the sun sets and he is free to move as he pleases, hidden by night and fueled by the witching hour. He spends his time creating talismans from sticks and husks and hiding them in nooks and cabinets for Mako to find. There is a circle around the farmhouse drawn in oil and rocks. Mako isn’t sure if it is to summon more monsters or to protect his home, but he knows the demon only wishes to please Mako. Maybe he wants to make a devil’s bargain when Mako is at his weakest. Whatever the fiend wants from him, Mako would gladly give. He is not worth much these days, but anything this hellion could offer him would at least be fun.

The creature’s noises are getting louder, more frequent. His hips are trembling with each thrust, and he rides Mako like he means it. Mako reaches between them, hand squeezed tight between his gut and the monster’s lean, supple abs to grip his cock. Mako pumps it slowly and it draws out a breathless clicking sound from deep within the scarecrows gears. He feels the coarse hair surrounding it; blond. He used to be a blond.

What a pretty sight. The monster arches provocatively, tight muscles moving like waves with each drop. He lifts his hands up to rest behind his thick straw ponytail and it makes the roll of his body that much more seductive. Mako feels the high pitched giggle resound between the enthusiastic moans, and the sharp, fiery smile still showing from below the bunched up mask is as dastardly as it is bewitching.

“Ya love me, don’cha big guy?”

Mako hates when he gets cheeky. He slams up into him, and the thing has to fumble over Mako’s belly to stop himself from falling back. Instead of complaining, he only cries out and starts squealing with each thrust. The cock in Mako’s hand is slippery with impending climax, and when he thumbs at the head, the monster howls something pitiful. The heat from his open mouth is making Mako sweat, and oil drools down his chin. Everything is oil and fire and black magic with this one. He is an adventure Mako never asked for, but is becoming a welcome constant. He has become part of his routine.

He squeezes hard and the demon cums with a shriek, like metal scraping asphalt. He arches and turns to stone, letting Mako finish up with a few quick pushes, smashing them together until he blows. The violent quiver of his hips has Mako shuddering too, emptying into him with all he’s got. Maybe this is what the demon is after. He might be an incubus, for all he knows. The monster whines, shivering out the last of his orgasm. Mako’s hand is coated in thick oil, and somehow that is less annoying than if it were semen. It will stain the sheets, just like it always does, and that’s fine. It’s welcome.

Despite the grinding gears and the crackle of flames churning in bedeviled flesh, Mako feels the quiet. The monster slumps against him, catching his breath as if he needs it at all. It is the gentle moment after the crashing of wretched bodies that Mako loves most, when the air is warm and the world can wait just a little longer. The morning sun is rising higher and the pigs are getting more impatient, but the creature has stolen his attention once again. Mako can’t help the content smile that bleeds through his cold, tired exterior, and mechanical orange eyes twitch and click to memorize it. When the scarecrow smiles this time, toothy and tender, Mako feels his insides catch fire and burn bright like candles in the dark. He must already be under some sort of spell.

Ever so slowly, the monster presses a kiss to Mako’s protruding belly button, and it burns like a searing hot iron.

Mako shoves him off the bed and onto the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> [Follow me on Tumblr!](http://froggyflan.tumblr.com/)


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